


i only know myself with you

by fshep



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: A few months ago, perhaps, Goro would have been elated to see Akira like this.





	i only know myself with you

Another sleepless night.

Goro sat at Akira’s workbench, a sorry excuse for a desk, with his equally as shoddy laptop open in front of him. Half-completed and staring back at him was a spreadsheet filled with numbers, dates, and dollar signs. Budgeting came easy to him—less so at 3AM, and more so when he was funneling his own hard-earned wages.

Shido’s inheritance was massive, and sickeningly so. At first, pride intervened; he didn't need  _anything_ from that man. Certainly not his dirty money. 

Yet, without financial backing from the police and media, without a renowned reputation to keep him in consideration, he had nothing.

Akira hummed in his sleep.

_Well. Not quite._

The chair creaked as Goro shifted, arm curving over the back. Akira was bundled beneath the blanket, close to the wall. Goro stared for a moment, and then another. Ordinarily, Akira tended to sprawl. Goro stood to check the window for a draft; it shook slightly from the rain-addled wind but otherwise appeared to be sealed shut. When he lowered his hand from the dusty pane, Akira gasped.

“Ahh. Are you dreaming?” Goro whispered. He rounded the edge of the bed and sat on top of it in the space unoccupied.

Akira didn’t reply. For several minutes he silently lay beneath Goro’s probing gaze.

And then the trashing began.

Morgana stirred when Akira’s hand smacked into his side, quickly rousing from the deep sleep he’d settled into. Goro, momentarily frozen, realized that Akira wasn’t humming so much as he was groaning in pain. He looked to the cat for guidance.

“Another nightmare,” he said, ears flattening.

“Is this common?”

“Mm… Lately, yeah. He used to sleep like a rock, but ever since he came back from solitary confinement…”

He trailed off, leaving Goro to make the apparent conclusion. Was he being plagued by something that happened? Was he terrified that he’ll wake up, only to find himself back within a cell?

Only one way to find out.

Morgana didn’t advise him against it, so Goro leaned over to place a gentle hand on Akira’s arm. He flinched and shoved his body further against the wall, tucking his legs up like a shield.

“No, no—No more!”

“Akira, Akira. It’s just Morgana and I. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

The cat huffed. Goro glared at him.

“We _aren’t_ ,” he said again.

“Please,” Akira whimpered. His eyes were screwed shut but, despite that, his cheeks were wet with tears. “Help me.”

Goro averted his eyes. For all the horrors he’d underwent without hesitation, without flinching—something about seeing Akira completely unraveled, so struck with terror… It got to him. Once again, he sought out some kind of cue from Morgana.

“I don’t know what to do, either,” he said, restlessly kneading the blanket. “Sometimes he’ll calm down if I purr, but I can’t get close to him when he’s like this.”

“I could slap him awake.”

“You have a terrible sense of humor.”

He decided not to correct Morgana’s assumption that it wasn’t a serious suggestion. Instead, he reached for Akira’s hand and wrestled with the boy’s fingers until they were intertwined with his own.

“Akira,” he tried again, louder. To his surprise, Akira’s eyes flew open. His shoulders remained tense, jaw tight, as he crushed Goro’s hand—and then, all at once, everything eased with a shuddering breath.

Belatedly, he yanked his hand away and used it to swiftly wipe at his face.

“Sorry.”

Goro blinked. “What?”

“Did I wake you guys up? Sorry about that.”

He exchanged a look with Morgana.

“I was already awake,” he explained, gesturing toward the desk. The laptop screen blared in the darkness; Akira squinted at it for a moment before relocating his gaze to the wall.

“Me too,” Morgana lied. “But that doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

And that was it. Akira shuffled around, fixing the blankets that had become askew between his legs, and sank into the pillow. He lay still, even as Goro and Morgana scrutinized him. Too still.

Only personal experience gave Goro the insight to recognize that Akira wasn’t as composed as he seemed. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, his breath shallow. While he might not be unconscious anymore, Goro deduced that he wasn’t free from terror’s grip.

_He’d spent several sleepless nights looking the way Akira does now—feeling everything, and then nothing. His chest expanded like an overinflated balloon, ribs aching while his lungs caved. He could do nothing but shake and shake until daylight bled between his blinds. He could do nothing but drag himself out of bed and ensure it was all worthwhile._

Goro had never been comforted during a panic attack. He could only do for Akira what he'd vied for himself.

But first, he needed context.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Akira flinched, and Morgana made a noise of protest. Goro lifted a placating hand.

“... My interrogation. It’s not a big deal, Akechi.”

“Goro.”

Akira whirled his head around to stare at him. “Huh?”

“We’re friends… or so you continue to insist. Don’t you think it’s about time we use each other’s given names?” He had already taken to using Akira’s, but he never found an appropriate time to extend Akira the same courtesy. A shame, really; he craved the intimacy but hesitated to welcome it.

A bit of Akira’s tension dissipated, and he nodded once. An echo of a smile tugged at his lips. He still seemed to be a little spacey, but that was alright; Goro wasn’t done.

“Have you ever told anybody what happened that night?” Ah—now _he_ was starting to sound like an officer. Old habits, indeed. “Rather—it might help to unload some of your burden.”

“That’s pretty rich coming from you.”

“Quid pro quo.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Lecter.” Akira was fighting a smirk now. Goro mirrored him. “... Honestly, I don’t remember most of it, and that’s because they pumped me full of drugs.” His tone adopted dissociative nonchalance. “I relive it—the… the needles. Being injected. Over and over again like some kind of snuff film. Somehow, getting the shit beaten out of me was a lot less harrowing in comparison.

I could barely stop myself from talking, broken ribs and all. I—I did, though, until Nijima-san arrived. But if it’d been any longer, I think I would’ve confessed to everything. I’d never felt so powerless. Everything hinged on me being able to keep it together, on… being able to convince her to see my side of the story.”

Morgana interrupts his monotonous droning. “We put a lot of pressure on you. The plan itself was risky, but…” His eyes flickered to Goro and away again. “There wasn’t much of a choice. We never really thanked you for putting your life on the line, huh?”

Goro was glad that Morgana took the opportunity to console Akira while he sat in silence. What could he have said? _My bad_ , he thinks sardonically, _for betraying you and thusly forcing you into what will likely be considered the worst situation you’ll ever endure._

Although, he _was_ apologetic. He’d made mistake after mistake, wreaking havoc along the way. He’d do anything to ease Akira’s pain. If only he could siphon it from body to body like sucking poison from a wound.

“You wouldn’t have had to endure any of that if it weren’t for me,” Goro said, fighting to keep his jaw unclenched. It felt pointless to state what Akira already knew, and demoralizing to admit fault while the warmth of their legs bled into one another. “I’m sure my presence isn’t helping you relax.”

“Actually, it is.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Maybe it’s because you’re such a capable guy. Nothing’s gonna hurt me with you around.”

Goro frowned. “You’re saying that you’ve managed to leash the dog that bit you.”

“Your metaphor, not mine.”

A sigh rattled his frame. At least Akira was starting to look a little less mechanical; perhaps Goro really was providing some kind of comfort. What an outlandish concept.

“I just,” began Morgana, abruptly, “wish you would’ve told us how bad things got. When we met up to discuss the plan with Makoto’s sister and the Boss, you acted the same as always!”

Akira turned to Morgana, brows lifted high.

“We spent _hours_ talking about what happened—and what came next—while you were still recovering.”

“There wasn’t a lot of time to waste.”

Morose, Morgana mutters, “It wouldn’t have been a waste at all. I should’ve intervened. Even as cocky as you were, I could tell something was off. We’d have been able to manage if we postponed the meeting another night.”

It took Akira a moment to find the right words to respond. He rubbed at his neck. “Sojiro called Doctor Takemi after I was dropped off at his house. By then, the drugs had already started to wear off, but she gave me something to flush out the rest anyway—and some kind of painkiller that she’s never sold to us before. I really was fine, Morgana. As fine as I could be, anyway.” His hand dropped onto Morgana’s head, fingers scratching between his ears. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

How sweet. Goro raised his eyes to the window and watched rivulets drip down the glass at an unrelenting pace. Akira wore just as many masks as Goro, yet—his intentions were selfless and, overall, benefitting for the others. What would his friends have said if, instead of sauntering into the cafe with a self-assured grin, he’d silently retreated to the attic and gave attention to his physical and mental trauma?

Goro would’ve liked to piece together a hypothetical scenario that proved relationships were fragile, shallow things—that vindicated his own self-isolation—but Akira was talking again, and this time to Goro.

“The same goes for you.”

“Huh?”

“I never know what you’re thinking, so I could be pretty far off the mark. But I don’t want you to dwell on what happened, either.”

The steady splattering of rain was deafening.

“Even if you don’t regret it, it must be awkward to sit here and listen to us lament the situation that you orchestrated.”

“I—!” Goro said, too loud. He choked back his initial outburst. _Of course I regret it. Can’t you see that, against my will, I’ve grown attached to you?_ “Did you know that Shido wanted me to eliminate the rest of the Phantom Thieves? Including you, Morgana.” He gripped one hand with the other, massaging his knuckles and shouldering the weight of two gazes. “I did all that I could to convince him it wasn’t necessary. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t see sense in needless bloodshed.”

It sounded hollow, as if he were vying for an award that read _Not Quite As Hopelessly Homicidal As You Could’ve Been_.

Morgana seemed to agree. “Isn’t all bloodshed needless?”

“Your shining sense of morality holds no water when you’ve mastered extortion and blackmail. Or does it not count when they’re shadows?” Goro lifted a hand to his chin. “Should I even mention lobotomizing your victims?”

“That’s different!”

“Is it?”

“Guys,” said Akira, raising his voice. They both looked at him. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The Metaverse is gone. No more Phantom Thieves, no more Black Mask.” Impassivity prevented Goro from determining whether Akira was relieved or disappointed. “Can’t we just move on?”

Morgana deflated, tucking his paws beneath his body. Goro leaned back against the wall with a small smile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“Thus far, revenge has been my only purpose. While my path had been tainted, at least it was unquestionable. Lacking in uncertainty. Now…” He turned slightly, toward Akira’s laptop. “I have no idea what to expect.”

Akira paused. “Morgana,” he murmured, tilting his head down at him. “Can you give us some space?”

“Seriously?”

He nodded.

“Ugh. Fine. But only because you seem to be feeling better.”

“Thanks to you.”

That got Morgana to preen, satisfaction evident as he hopped down, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He cast a glance back toward the bed, lingering on Goro, but voiced no further protest before making his way downstairs.

As if on cue, the laptop went to sleep, shrouding them in near darkness. Goro could still make out the contours of Akira’s face, the swell of his lips and curve of his nose, highlighted by the moon’s glow.

“Come here,” said Akira. “Lie down with me.”

Goro blinked, unlinking his hands so that they hovered hesitantly over the blanket.

He could hear the smile in Akira’s tone. “I’m serious.”

When Goro finally shuffled closer, rearranging himself so that he lay down on his back, Akira asked, “What were you working on before I woke up?”

 _Quid pro quo._ It's only fair, Goro.

“Well,” he began slowly, “I was managing my finances. Shido is in prison for life—however long that may be. He mentioned capital punishment but provided no timeframe. Sae-san is barred from any details by political red tape and nobody else has deemed it necessary to keep me informed.”

“Wait,” Akira interrupted as he shifted onto his side. “You’ve talked to him?”

“Quite a few times now. I detest every moment of it, but I can’t deny the satisfaction of his groveling.” He stared at one of the sticker stars above them. “That aside, he’s given me access to his money. … I don’t know what to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I could live with accepting such a grandiose handout from him. It feels like—even though we’ve won and he’s behind bars, he’d still consider my reliance a personal victory of his own. Despite the rewiring of his conscious, he is… _truly_... still an unpleasant individual.”

Akira’s breath fanned against Goro’s cheek as he laughed. “You can just say he’s an asshole.”

“He is,” Goro agreed vehemently. He felt oddly revitalized. “A _manipulative_ asshole. I imagine he’s quite bored in prison. I refuse to be his plaything.”

“Why not take his money and then cut contact?”

“You think I should?”

“I think that’s the least he owes you.”

He owed Goro his _life_. “Wouldn’t it be more heroic of me to donate to a child care institution? Perhaps such a selfless act would absolve me of my sins.” He fought an ugly, rueful smile.

Akira hesitated. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll support you. But doing something good doesn’t erase your misgivings.”

“Then how do I atone? How does anybody?" His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. "And who gets to determine who's worthy of redemption? Law is..." A laugh bubbled from his throat. "It's the only thing that's absolute, I suppose, and even then—only just. But what differentiates one murderer from another? From myself and Shido? Why should I walk free while he rots in jail?"

"Hey, hey..." Akira said, nudging his arm. "Do you want the answer bullet-pointed, or MLA formatted?"

Goro sniffed.

"You were just a kid. He took advantage of you." When Goro opened his mouth, Akira spoke over him. "He threatened you. He ruined your life, did a number on mine. You were his weapon. And, yeah. You chose to take advantage of that for your own goals, but..."

He didn't mean for Akira to start on this. He wasn't very eloquent, either, words sluggish as he fought to stay awake.

Goro struggled to keep the callousness from his tone. "Never mind. I'm not complaining that Sae-san and Sakura-san have decided not to escalate my case, that's for certain..."

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Akira's support. To have somebody believe in him—fight for him—was something he refused to take for granted. But he didn't know how to receive it; it was cloyingly unfamiliar. Should he revel in the euphoria that accompanied having an ally? Did he deserve to?

“Hey, lift your arm up.”

To his chagrin, he found himself obeying before he could ask why. Akira ducked beneath it to settle the length of his body against Goro’s side, resting his head on Goro’s chest.

“Wh…”

“It’s a lot more comfortable like this, right?”

 _Yes_. “I suppose it is.”

Akira hummed. “I can hear your heartbeat going crazy.”

Obnoxious little brat. Goro couldn’t even contest his claim; the evidence was right beneath Akira’s ear. He hesitated before lowering his arm to drape it around Akira’s back. There was nowhere else for it to go, but Akira was clearly content with that, nuzzling into him and curling his fingers into the fabric above Goro's stomach.

Despite the way Goro had frozen in place, Akira was completely lax. Warmth enveloped the right side of his body and coiled and coiled until he felt it at the tips of his fingers. He was overcome by an urgent need not to disturb him. _Was that last breath too deep? Did I jostle him?_

“Goro.” It was the first time Akira said his name since agreeing to do so. “Thank you.”

That extracted Goro from his fretting. “For what?”

“For being here. For comforting me. Even just… trying—means a lot.”

 _I should be saying that to you_.

“That’s…” He faltered. “You’re welcome. I’m… happy to do so.”

Akira flexed his arm, quickly and gently squeezing Goro before he eased back into a languid sprawl. In the silence that followed, as Goro adjusted to his unfamiliar weight, Akira fell back asleep. The rain slowed to a crawl by the time Morgana padded back up into the attic.

“Jeez,” sighed Morgana. “That’s why he wanted me to go downstairs? So he could pull a move on you? Typical.”

“Eh?” Goro dropped his voice to a whisper so that his chest wouldn’t reverberate. “I thought he was being considerate of my comfort level. It was moot; I don’t mind that you know what he does, so long as you aren’t compelled to gossip with the others.”

Morgana fixed him with a _look_. “... Never mind. Let’s get some sleep.”

His reflex to argue was outweighed by the obligation to leave Akira unperturbed. “Very well. Goodnight, Morgana.”

“You too, Akechi.”

As Morgana made himself comfortable beside Akira’s lower back, Goro succumbed to the desire to run gentle fingers through the other boy’s hair. He thought of morals and numbers, of redemption and support. He thought of Akira, vulnerable, and felt nothing close to triumph.

He fell asleep to the slow rise and fall of Akira’s shoulders. In the morning, he woke to a blinding sun that was soon obscured by Akira’s face.

“Have any good dreams?” he asked, lips quirked.

 _None so much as this,_ he thought, pulling Akira back in.


End file.
